


Everybody Knows (Except You)

by serenissima (killalla)



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killalla/pseuds/serenissima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody comes to understand it in their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Knows (Except You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebecca2525 (Rebecca)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebecca/gifts).



Lemon

Miss Felicity Lemon is a completely unimaginative woman. Several of her past employers have commented upon this trait. Most have done so favourably - creative flair is not what is wanted in a secretary.

What nearly all of those employers never noted is that Miss Lemon is also a highly observant woman. And if lacking imagination, her conclusions were far more likely to be based on logic rather than mere speculation.

It therefore surprises her somewhat that no-one, even the parties involved, have ever noticed the subtle signs that she sees, that she saw very nearly from the start. It’s the sort of thing that an efficient and capable secretary would notice – a change in body language, the frequent remains of breakfast croissants and coffee on the sideboard in the morning, misplaced and occasionally mismatched (but only ever on the Captain, of course) cufflinks, and overwhelmingly, undeniably the constant presence of two people in a flat that was only ever meant for one, long past the time when there was any explanation or need.

But the Captain has never really been one for self-reflection, and Monsieur Poirot, despite being the foremost detective of his era, was at times remarkably obtuse, although she has considered that this issue in particular could perhaps be a wilful blindness on his part. Still, he himself once said of her that "Anything that she mentioned as worth consideration usually was worth consideration." She wonders, sometimes, what he would make of the conclusions she has drawn.

Japp

Detective Chief Inspector James Harold Japp has had his suspicions for some time. The knowledge concerns him, as it would any right thinking man, but he’s dammed if he knows what to do about it. It’s not a topic of conversation for polite society, and really not the sort of thing he’d care to discuss, aside from conveying that he hopes never to see either of his old friends in the dock on that particular charge.

Truth told, he’d always thought Poirot something of an odd bird, with his fastidious habits and funny foreign manners. It was all a bit decadent. In the end, though, there was no doubting the man’s clear talent at finding just the right piece of evidence and just the right time, not to mention his uncanny knack of putting two and two together. But this time, it’s Japp who’s doing the calculating, and he’s not sure how he got to five.

Moreover, there’s Hastings, who seems the most unlikely candidate for anything not the purview of the traditional English gentleman. Yet, there are the clues Japp can’t ignore – the unconscious way that Poirot seems to relax in the presence of his dearest friend, the way that Hastings’ face lights up when the detective walks into the room. Not to mention their banter and complaints, which are all a bit too reminiscent himself and the missus. And that’s the very problem – once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

Hastings

Captain Arthur Hastings never considered himself the most intelligent of men. He was no fool, but he knew his strengths and limitations. Not for him the brilliant deduction or sudden insight; his contributions were of the practical sort, and his epiphanies of the gradual kind. It was therefore no surprise that it took him so long to come to one particular conclusion – what did surprise him was that he somehow reached it before Poirot.

Moving back to England after so many years should have been a shock, but was in the end easier than he thought possible, like moving back not just in space but in time. The second room at Whitehaven Mansions was exactly as he had left it, the work the same though the cases themselves different. There was an unmistakeable sense of being home.

Poirot had not changed – a little stouter and greyer, but still possessed of an irresistible, sometimes insufferable air of confidence and certainty. Why, it was a bit like Dulcie – but that, as they say, was in another country. And what was now evident, was that there was no real difference between the way he thought of her and the way he thought of him – that same dizzying sense of admiration and amazement, and the knowledge that here was someone who had only to ask, and Hastings could and would follow wherever and whatever the circumstance. Deciding what to do with this realization, now _that_ would take any ounce of genius he might possess.

Poirot

Monsieur Hercule Poirot knew that it is the smallest of details which makes the difference, which can turn the case on its head. How often he had explained such to police or gathered suspects. Yet when presented with it, with a single word, but the most telling of words, he very nearly missed it.

It was shortly after Hastings’ return from Argentina, when he had settled at Whitehaven Mansions for an undefined period of time. They slipped comfortably into the same old routines from long ago. And then, one morning over croissants and coffee, Hastings asked “I say, Hercule, could you pass the butter?”

The comment passed unnoticed at the time, and like a fool, he did not notice the import of the statement until nearly lunchtime, when with a start, and the exclamation of “I am ten thousand times an idiot!” the moment of clarity arrived.

As it turned out, Hastings had gone out, giving Poirot the chance to draw conclusions of his own. And in this, his dear friend – direct, forthright and fearless to a fault – had solved the mystery before him, and already gone on ahead.

He hears the knock on the door, and in just that instant, his resolve falters. He must for a moment remind himself that he is a former police inspector and a decorated veteran. But this, it seems, is the most difficult thing he has ever done. Fixing his courage to the sticking point, he raises his voice - “Entrez, mon ami.”


End file.
